


All Our Old Follies, Come 'Round Again

by bunn, Drag0nst0rm



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Moria | Khazad-dûm, Ost-in-Edhil, Second Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-16 00:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18084071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunn/pseuds/bunn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Celebrimbor sees Elrond again after a long separation.It isn't a good thing, at first.  But then Celebrían meets Elrond for the first time under... unexpected circumstances.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rencat requested a Celebrimbor and Elrond reunion.
> 
> Rencat did not request a genre. 
> 
> This was born.

They’d kept a jail in Eregion because sometimes they’d needed it; though the city had always been open to all, not all of its inhabitants had been equally agreeable to that, particularly if they got too deep in their cups.

Celebrimbor had visited it more than once to inspect it or have a word with a particularly rowdy repeat offender. As both lord of the city and someone who had long learned to hold their tongue no matter what was said, he had never been on the other side of the bars, though admittedly, there had been one occasion when that had only been because Narvi had punched the offender first.

That had been then. He was not particularly surprised to find himself in it now, nor to find that Annatar - no, Sauron. That Sauron had made … alterations.

The steel of the manacles bit into his wrists, though bit hardly sufficient; gnawed was a better word.

He closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to see the damage done even in this dim light and pushed aside the ridiculous thought of how badly the damage would interfere with his work. There would be no more work, and that was just and proper. There should be no more work. He should never have turned his hands to that which he had already made.

He thought instead of Finrod, and how it was rumored that he had endured chains like this, that devoured his flesh until he broke through them. How his cousin had done so, Celebrimbor had no idea. If there was weakness in them, it was not apparent, though perhaps the exploited flaw had been corrected.

Turned into a problem of workmanship, the chains were more bearable.

And thinking of that kept him from thinking of what would happen when Sauron came again.

 

Sauron came, as did the pain.

Celebrimbor told him nothing.

Again and again and again until he thought he could bear no more.

Then he did it again.

 

He had healed far beyond how much he was usually allowed to heal. He had been left alone for so long that he was starting to wonder if this was the beginning of some new torture.

Then the door swung open, and Sauron, still in Annatar’s form, appeared in the door, covered in blood that was presumably not his own.

He was smiling.

Celebrimbor could not quite restrain a flinch at that smile.

Sauron’s smile widened, but he didn’t call his prisoner out directly, the news he had to share apparently too good to wait. “I know I’ve been neglecting you, Tyelpe, but I’m pleased to announce that’s at an end. I’ve finally caught that cousin of yours that was being such an annoyance.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes widened. “You lie,” he hissed, even as he frantically thought through the short list of his few remaining cousins. 

Sauron shook his head sadly. “You should trust me, Tyelpe. Perhaps then all this could end.”

If it was trust Sauron was waiting for, they would be here till the end of Arda. He might break someday, might babble out all of his secrets once his battered mind had forgotten why they mattered, but trust was forever lost.

Sauron might have seen that in his eyes, for it was at that moment he stepped aside and let the new prisoner be thrown in.

For a moment, injury and darkness concealed the truth, but then the figure turned its head, and Celebrimbor knew.

“Elrond,” he breathed out, horrified. Had his line not done enough to his cousin’s that his folly must drag the closest friend he had remaining amongst his kin to this fate?

If Elrond was even conscious, he gave no sign, not even as two of the men who served under Sauron dragged him further into the room and chained him to the opposing wall.

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Sauron said. “I’m sure when I return, Elrond’s presence will be of great benefit to our discussion.” There was a gleam of wild triumph in his eyes as he swept from the room, taking the men with him.

He could not bend. He must not bend. Not even for Elrond, could he -

All that Sauron had done to him flashed across his mind. He had born it because he must, because it seemed fit that he should be punished for his blindness, but to see Elrond suffer such, innocent of it all -

He swallowed back a sob. 

“Celebrimbor?” Elrond’s voice was heavy with concern and not at all groggy, and Celebrimbor realized with a start that he must have been awake all along. “How bad is it? I doubt there’s much I can do from here, but perhaps a song of healing - “

“Save your strength,” he ordered immediately. “I’m … well enough.”

His wrists were raw and bloodied, though he no longer worried about that save for an occasional reminder of the ache when other pains temporarily faded. There was no point worrying about the wrists when both hands were already missing fingers.

He’d started with the ring fingers. Apparently Annatar’s morbid sense of humor wasn’t part of the sham.

He shook the memories off and ignored how the movement aggravated the still healing lashes across his face. “And you? How badly are you injured?”

“Well enough,” Elrond echoed, though there was a slight strain in his tone. “The others who patrolled with me were not so lucky.”

Celebrimbor caught the wording. “Patrolled? Then he has not yet taken all your forces?”

“I very much doubt he’s even found my forces,” Elrond said with grim amusement. “If only I hadn’t pierced so far with the patrol! But it’s done now, and I have at least found you again, though it is too late for your city.”

Then hope was not entirely lost, though Celebrimbor feared even more for Elrond now. Celebrimbor’s cooperation, revenge against Elrond’s great-grandparents, information of Elrond’s own forces … Sauron’s motivations for targeting Elrond grew only stronger. Celebrimbor doubted even his best efforts at provocation would draw the Maia aside from his new target to his old.

Elrond shifted uncomfortably in the chains. “These remind me of something.”

“The stories they used to tell of Finrod?”

“That’s it. He’s reliving his glory days, then, I suppose? A few more elves and a werewolf, and we could be Finrod and Beren’s company all over again.”

The levity was strained, but it was not cruel, and that made it the best he’d heard for what seemed an age of the world. A weak laugh rattled his ever thinner chest. “We would also need a Man,” he pointed out. “Unless you are taking that part?”

“I might as well,” Elrond said with a shadow of a grin. “Beren survived in the end, though admittedly with help of fair maiden.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve found yourself one of those? Preferably with the power of Luthien as well as her fairness, though I’ll rejoice for you either way.”

“No,” Elrond said. “Not I. Although … “ He shook his head. “I had thought - I had been sure that I foresaw children. But I am not infallible, as has been made readily apparent.”

There was grief in his voice, hard as he tried to hide it beneath cheer. Celebrimbor had long consigned all his own dreams to ash, but he could not bear to see Elrond do the same. Not Elrond, who had endured so much and yet still shone so brightly. Never Elrond.

Celebrimbor steeled his voice with what little strength he had left and called upon what small power he could still reach. “Not infallible, perhaps, but not wrong in that. You’ll survive this, Elrond - “ and even now he hesitated, but perhaps even this frail protection would do some bit of good, so he wove power into his words, “you’ll survive this, I swear to you, as my father’s son.”

Elrond jerked in his chains, eyes wide.

Celebrimbor let the ghost of a smile cross his face. “And you know how diligently my family pursues our oaths.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought of ending it with Maglor showing up and rescuing both of them, but I fear I might have overused that plot, so . . . Feel free to imagine the rescue of your choice?
> 
> I was also tempted to cast Celebrian in the role of Luthien here, but canonically she hasn't even met Elrond yet.


	2. Despair Is Only for Those Who See the End Beyond All Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrían is very brave. And also there's a dog, for symmetry and also because dogs make everything better. Also, a rather different take on Elrond seeing Celebrían for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read the first chapter of this story, and was immediately seized with ideas for possible opportunities for rescue, and so I contacted Drag0nst0rm, who has very kindly allowed me to add a second chapter...
> 
> In this story, Celebrían is adult, but considerably younger than everyone else, apart possibly from King Durin. 
> 
> (The attack on Sauron by the Dwarves of Moria and Amdir of Lórien that saved Elrond’s host that is mentioned in this chapter is from Unfinished Tales.  
> There’s no mention of Galadriel or Celebrían being in the host, but they were in Lórien (then called Lindórinand) at that point, so there seems no reason why they shouldn’t have been.)

_Then sudden Felagund there swaying_  
_Sang in answer a song of staying,_  
_Resisting, battling against power,_  
_Of secrets kept, strength like a tower,_  
_And trust unbroken, freedom, escape;_  
_Of changing and of shifting shape,_  
_Of snares eluded, broken traps,  
The prison opening, the chain that snaps._

  


Celebrían tried to suppress her shiver: anticipation, fear, excitement rolled together. She was standing beside her mother on the wide lamplit steps that led up into the mountain heart of Khazad-dûm. Beside the doors far below them stood Amdir of Lindórinand and his personal bodyguard, lightly armoured and carrying bows and long knives. They would be the first through the doors, to pick off any enemies in the vale.

Around Celebrían were Mother’s shieldmaidens, and more of the people of Lindórinand. They were all on foot, for they could not bring any great force on horseback through the depths of the dwarf-city, but they had with them many of the great yrch-hounds of Lindórinand, huge muscular beasts with fierce faces and spiked collars.

Waiting behind the vanguard, under a vast golden lamp, stood the King. Durin shone, in magnificent armour that was enamelled in many colours. His helm was set with gems that sparkled in the light, and all around him were sturdy dwarves in heavy mail-coats and armed with axes.

And now the time had come.

“Right then, lads!” Durin cried in a great voice. “The Enemy of our people has come to the land of our friends, and now we shall make him regret it! Open the Doors!”

And the Westgate of Khazad-dûm swung open. Amdir and his bodyguard leapt forward, and then they were all moving.

If Celebrían had wanted to change her mind, if she had wanted to say to her mother; _no, after all, I will stay behind as you wanted me to!_ it was too late.

 

*****

 

The attack went well at first. The orc-legion that Sauron had left to watch the Eregion road was caught by surprise; only a handful lived to run away. Far in the distance under heavy dark clouds, they could hear fighting. Amdir led them north.

They knew that Ost-in-Edhil had already fallen: from windows set high in the mountainside they had seen it. This battle must be between Sauron and the host that Elrond had brought to the aid of Eregion.

If they could only join their forces, then there might still be hope of victory.

 

*****

 

Three days later, even Celebrían, who had never been to war before, knew the hope of victory was over. Many of Amdir’s people had been hurt, and by now it was only the Dwarves in their heavy armour that were holding the enemy back as they retreated.

Elrond’s host had vanished into the North, and they were being beaten back to Khazad-dûm.

They were fighting their way back past the broken walls of Ost-in-Edhil when Celebrían found herself separated from her mother and the main force.

A sudden surge of tall Men under a red serpent banner came against her. She lunged to defend the Dwarf next to her from the sword that came out of nowhere, found herself shoved to one side, slipped, dropped her shield and fell into the drainage ditch beside the road.

She had to take a moment to catch her breath, one hand on her sword, the other under her in the filth of the ditch. When she got to her feet, a strong force of orcs had come charging in between her and her mother’s banner, which was moving away from her swiftly, not far away, and yet too far.

Celebrían stared at the orcs wide-eyed for a brief terrified moment, sword in hand, and then ducked down again into the scant protection of the ditch. Something moved next to her and she whirled in terror, only stopping her sword-stroke at the last moment. It was not an enemy. It was one of the yrch-hounds, half covered in mud from the ditch, and looking at her with round, worried eyes.

Oddly, she felt a little less panic-stricken. She was in very much the wrong place, and in terrible danger of death or worse. But so was the dog, and she could hardly expect him to know what to do.

“Quiet,” she breathed, and pulled her cloak, coloured with the hues of leaf and stone, close around them both. She thought of being still, of secrets kept, of being a small part of the great living tapestry that was Middle-earth. The orcs hesitated, and ran on, leaving Celebrían and the dog unnoticed under the ruined walls of Ost-in-Edhil.

 

*****

 

Sauron had lived in Ost-in-Edhil for too long in disguise, learning the ways of the city: an honoured guest, a learned friend of the Lord of Eregion.

But Celebrían had been a child of the city, and children learn of places that honoured guests and learned scholars never visit. Much of the city was now burned or ruined, but the place where you could wriggle behind the holly-bushes in the Market Square and get into the odd little space behind the stables was still there, and so was the little rooftop dovecot and the grainstore for the doves.

Celebrían sat down with her back to the grainstore, and thought about the legions of the Dark Lord that now surrounded the city in every direction. She thought of her mother, getting back to Khazad-dûm and finding that Celebrían was lost. Then she wiped the blood and filth from her sword, sheathed it, put her arm around the dog and cried silently for a while.

The maintenance grill for the hypocaust under the the main hall of the House of the Mirdain was still there too. The space under the floor, three feet tall and supported by stacks of bricks, did not make such a comfortable hiding place now as it had when it was first built and Celebrían had not been so tall, but it was probably safer than anywhere else in the city.

She could not help wondering, sometimes, as the dark days crawled by, why it was that Sauron with his One Ring upon his finger did not see the elf hiding like a frightened rat beneath the floor or creeping behind the stables. But she tried not to think of it. Thinking about him might attract his attention.

Once the lembas in her belt-pouch was gone, she steeped corn in the water from the barrel behind the stable, ate it grain by grain shared with the dog, and tried not to listen to the screams that came sometimes from the jail. The screams could have come from anyone, but when she heard an angry desperate voice shouting, she knew, and wept new tears for Celebrimbor.

Once, a goblin came crawling through the bushes, following her scent or the dog’s. Before she could brace herself to kill it, it met the silent eager jaws of the yrch-hound, and after that there was rather more grain for Celebrían. She spent a day and a night terrified that the goblin would be missed, that others would follow, but they did not.

*****

 

When Sauron went away north with most of his army, she thought of escape from the city that had once been home, and now was a trap. But the jail where there had sometimes been screaming was still visited by Men carrying water. Torn between fear, horror and sympathy, she could not bear to leave Celebrimbor there, alive.

She did not reach out with her mind to him. Sauron had spun his dark enchantments across the ruined city, across the bodies and the bones, and she dared not disturb them. But she watched, lying flat on the stable roof under the cloak that mother had made for her, mapping the shape and pattern of the Enemy’s dark arts with the dog lying warm beside her.

There were fewer people in the ruined city now, and after a while, she took the risk, stepping silent from her shelter wrapped in her grey cloak, moving with enormous caution, words of ward and secrecy wrapped around her.

In these sad ruins men and orcs lived and slept and ate, wrapped around by Sauron’s sorceries, and she would find out every detail that might give her some scant advantage.

Long ago, she and her friends had crept through the streets of Ost-in-Edhil, pretending to be Finrod, Beren and Edrahil, trying to pass the dreadful Tower of the Werewolves in disguise. Now she played the game again, alone, knowing that a single misstep would mean at best death, and at worst, things she could not bear to imagine.

She did not come near Celebrimbor, not yet. The jail was guarded by both the living and the dead. There was no point in risking an approach until she had a plan.

 

*****

 

But before she could think of one, Sauron returned. He had a prisoner with him, stumbling with his hands tied behind him. She could just see his arrival from her vantage-point, though she could not miss the feeling of Sauron approaching, the dark strength overlaid with savage glee.

She only dared the briefest glimpse before ducking down and covering her mind in small, rat-like thoughts; corn and darkness, fear and hiding, the feel of wet tile under her hands, the warm bulk of her companion beside her.

 

*****

 

Near midday, and she knew she had run out of time.

Watching from the small side-window of a shop that had once sold the most beautifully coloured inks, she felt the Enemy’s fierce delight echo as he came storming from the jail, the smile upon his still-beautiful face a thing of terror as he gave orders to his men.

Celebrimbor must have told him where the Rings were hidden.

She could feel Sauron’s attention, fiercely focussed: she could not tell where he was going, but it was somewhere to the north. His savage delight was so all-encompassing that it was pulling spirits of the dead and even the thoughts of living men and orcs that he had dominated with it.

This was the chance she had waited for, if she could only dare to take it.

She took a deep breath, and put one hand on the yrch-hound’s ugly, loyal head. “I’m never going to be Lúthien,” she whispered. “And you’re no Hound of Valinor, are you? But we’ll try, even as we are. I don’t suppose even Lúthien believed that she could do it before she did, anyway.”

His round brown worried eyes looked up into hers, and she nodded and stepped out into the street with the dog beside her. Their feet made no more noise than leaves falling, and the hues of water, stone, wood and earth were folded around them.

Sauron’s foul arts webbed the road before them, and Celebrían wove a path through them, the hound beside her, matching her step. Quiet thoughts: a rat, a shadow, a breath of wind or a memory.

The jail had been built to cool off rowdy arguments. Ost-in-Edhil had no dungeons, and Sauron had not had time to build any.

The main door had been built to look imposing, to impress everyone with the authority of the Lady of Eregion. The kitchen door had not.

Celebrían knew this well, from occasions when Galadriel had been giving judgement in the Court of the Open Book nearby and her daughter had become hungry. The _kitchen_ door had a simple bolt on the inside, and if you put your hand in through the small barred window from the outside _like this..._

... you could push the bolt aside like _this_...

...and drift past the trailing strands of Sauron’s dark thoughts...

...not looking too hard at whatever was sprawled over there behind the table in a dark pool of old blood...

... and slip quietly up the narrow steps into the corridor...

... where there was a clever lever that lifted the iron gate, which wasn’t obvious from the other side...

... and before you knew it, you had come through into the jail, walking quiet and unobtrusive as any small scuttling thing far beyond the notice of the Enemy...

 

She looked into the small dim room, and saw the people chained to the walls. Celebrimbor was almost unrecognisable, caked with old black blood: his hands, his wrists, his face. You could see that his ribs had been broken, because he was so thin, the shape of them was outlined under his skin. His eyes were closed.

No time now for nausea. Ignore the smell.

“Celebrimbor?” she breathed, hardly to disturb the air. Surely he was not dead...

His eyelids fluttered and he blinked at her. “You can’t have the Three,” he said, his voice tired and strained. “I gave you the others. You said you’d let him go.”

“He lied,” the man chained to the other wall said wearily. “You knew he was lying.”

“No,” Celebrían said, “No, honestly, I’m not him, Celebrimbor, it’s me! He’s gone rushing off somewhere, so I thought this was the best chance that I could hope for, unless he gets attacked by someone else, and I don’t think there are any more armies left, unless the High King comes himself, and mother said he’d sent most of his people already, so I don’t know how much army he’s got left. Gil-galad, I mean, not the Enemy. He’s got lots of armies, Mother says.”

“Really?” the other man said incredulously. “The dog’s a clever touch, but hardly convincing. I suppose you were listening to everything we said.”

But Celebrimbor stared at her, and then coughed painfully. Once he had started, he did not seem to be able to stop, and so Celebrían touched him very gently, avoiding the enchanted chains, to soothe the cough and take away at least a little of the pain.

“Leave him alone,” the other man said fiercely, chains jingling as he pulled at them, but Celebrimbor raised his head.

“Elrond, she’s real. This _is_ Galadriel’s daughter, Celebrían.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“As sure as I am that you are my cousin Elrond. I know both... Sauron and Celebrían well. This is Celebrían.”

Elrond stared, wide-eyed. He had a black eye and whipmarks across his arms and chest, but compared with Celebrimbor, he did not look too badly hurt.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” she said, and then flushed a little at the absurdity of it.

“Nothing like as pleased as I am!” Elrond said with a flicker of a smile. “Can you help us with these chains?”

“That’s why I came but... he may know, if they’re removed,” Celebrían said, worrying. “Do you think that you could run?”

Elrond straightened as well as he could. “I think so.”

“Celebrimbor?”

He had been leaning on the wall, his arms supported by the chains, but at her words he pushed himself forward until he was standing more or less on his own. “I don’t know. But I’d prefer trying to staying here.”

Celebrían nodded then bit her lip as she looked at the chains. “I can’t break these. But perhaps. I could...” She drew her belt-knife. Celebrimbor, next to her, winced and then deliberately met her eyes and nodded.

Celebrían frowned at him, startled. “I wasn’t thinking of that! Hold still for a moment.”

She cut into the hem of her cloak, and quickly pulled out four long strands of thread. She stood on tiptoes to loop one around each of Celebrimbor’s wrists, and concentrated, murmuring quiet words of concealment.

Nothing happened.

She was horribly aware of time passing. Celebrimbor and Elrond were both watching her, and she threw an apologetic look at Elrond over her shoulder. Her hands were shaking a little, and the threads had Celebrimbor’s blood on them.

“Take it slowly, Celebrían,” Celebrimbor said gently, as if they were in his forge long ago, and he was showing her some new idea he had come up with. “It’s a clever idea. You’re good at this. Take your time and try again.”

His deep voice helped her feel steadier. She took a deep breath, and spoke again, ignoring the chains, and concentrating on Celebrimbor caught within them, as if she was untangling a snarl of thread. The chains rattled and shifted, and then Celebrimbor’s poor wrists were outside of them, as if the chains had forgotten for a moment that he existed.

Celebrían almost squealed with delight and had to put a hand over her own mouth for a moment. The dog thrust forward to snuff at Celebrimbor doubtfully.

Celebrimbor reeled forward and went to his knees with his broken hands clutched to his chest. “Help Elrond,” he said. “I just... just need a moment...”

Celebrían hurried across to Elrond. Leaning across him to wrap threads carefully around his wrists, she found herself rather more aware of the look in his eyes than was at all appropriate under the circumstances. She had been been sheltering under a floor, he was chained to a wall: neither of them smelled at all good. She should not be noticing his shoulders and his neck. She should have her mind on the job...

She whispered words over the threads tied around his wrists without meeting his eyes, and this time the chains fell away more easily.

Celebrimbor had not stood up. She touched him on the shoulder. “Come on! We can’t stay here...”

Celebrimbor looked up at her. “Celebrían, go with Elrond and run. As fast and far as you can.”

“No,” she told him. “I’m not leaving you here! Don’t be so silly, Celebrimbor. You’re hurt and tired and hungry, I know, but there’s no point staying here to wait for Sauron to come back, is there?”

“She’s right,” Elrond agreed. “Come, Celebrimbor, we can’t leave you here.” He knelt and tucked himself under Celebrimbor’s arm so that he could help him to his feet without pressing on his broken hands or his ribs.

“I still have a little miruvor left,” she said, and took the flask from her belt, wishing, as she felt how light it was, that she had saved all of it for them. Elrond looked tired already, and Celebrimbor...No good regretting it now. She made them both drink what was left of it, guided them out through the kitchen door into the ruin of the city, and somehow managed, feeling that there must be eyes watching from every door and broken window to coax them through the maze of enchantments to the road that led East.

And then they ran.

Celebrimbor had more stamina than she had feared, more even than she had hoped. He did not run fast, but he kept going somehow, mile after mile. Twice, Celebrían saw figures on the road far ahead, and ran on, spinning enchantments under her breath as if she were indeed Finrod himself, trying against all the odds to help his friend and keep his people safe.

They felt the moment when Sauron found his prisoners had fled, like a roll of thunder far behind, and after that, a terrible sense of watchfulness, but even that was less terrifying than the sound of howling far behind, the sound of some terrible wolf upon the trail.

“Is that.. Him? The howling?” Celebrían asked. She had taken over supporting Celebrimbor from Elrond, who was finding it hard to run now. Celebrían herself felt that the sound of howling had given her feet wings.

Celebrimbor shook his head. “Don’t know. Never saw that.” he gritted out.

“Never mind. Keep your breath for running! We’re almost there,” she said, though of course Celebrimbor knew the way to Khazad-dûm better than she did herself.

There was a company of orcs encamped around the valley and beside the road. They had to waste precious time circling around to find a way down to the gates where they could slip by, even with all that Celebrían and Elrond together could do to hide them from unfriendly eyes.

It was hard, so very hard, to spin enchantment out of words alone, when you were tired and fearful. Celebrimbor was clearly very nearly done. He went on walking, somehow, and he was not coughing any more, but his head was down and his footsteps were heavy.

But the sight of the Doors revived him. His head went up, and he smiled, for all the sound of howling that was growing louder behind them.

And the Doors of Durin knew their maker. They blazed bright in greeting: the Two Trees, the Hammer Stars and Crown, and brightest of all, the star of the House of Fëanor in the centre.

“Friend!” Celebrimbor called in a great voice, and the doors swung open to greet him. From behind them, a great number of Dwarves came surging out to form a welcoming committee and a rearguard, as Celebrimbor stumbled in through the doors, with Celebrían, Elrond and the yrch-hound just behind.

The doors closed behind them, and now Dwarves were putting into place the great siege-bars, and hurrying them through into the guard-room.

They had made it. They had escaped.

 

*****

 

From behind the excited group of Dwarves, a much taller figure stepped forward, golden-haired. Galadriel went straight to Celebrían and put her arms around her. Celebrían, feeling tears suddenly starting in her eyes, clung to her desperately. The long days in Ost-in suddenly seemed a dark dream.

Galadriel looked at Elrond, and then back at Celebrimbor. “You have brought back my daughter to safety, beyond all hope. And Elrond too: I owe you thanks...”

Celebrimbor interrupted her. “No. Don’t thank me! I did nothing but try to keep up. Celebrían has saved us both.”

Elrond added fervently “And we can’t thank her enough. Celebrían, there are no words! Thank you. Thank you!”

Celebrían blushed, and her mother looked down at her, for once with nothing at all to say, and hugged her close.

Durin came rushing in and went to Celebrimbor. “I am so glad to see you in one piece, my friend,” he exclaimed. He looked Celebrimbor up and down. “More or less in one piece.”

Celebrimbor sagged into a chair that one of the Dwarves had hurried to bring him. His face was sad.

“I have bad news,” he said, leaning heavily on the arm of the chair. “I was forced to give up the Nine. And he will have six of the Seven, too, all but the ring I gave to Durin. Durin, you must keep that ring locked away. Don’t wear it! Only the holders of the Three are still secret from him.”

“These are dark tidings indeed,” Galadriel said, with a troubled frown. She was still studying Celebrían carefully, as if she was afraid that something terrible had happened to her.

“I told you,” Elrond said to Celebrimbor. “You know he lies.”

Celebrimbor sighed. “You did. But it was all I could do, by then: would you prefer that I kept silent and watch him pull your guts out? I should never have made them.”

Celebrían pulled away from her mother, and put a hand on the head of the yrch-hound, which had sat down comfortably beside her, to lean on her legs. “If you hadn’t told him, I might never have been able to get to you. Surely it’s not so very awful, is it? He already had his own ring, didn’t he? So you couldn’t use the others anyway.”

“They are less powerful than the Three,” Celebrimbor admitted. “But they have a power that he will find terrible uses for. Alas for Eregion, and for my hope.”

Galadriel looked at him, and there was pity in her eyes. “You hoped he might have changed. A noble hope, even if it failed.” Then her eyes fell on Celebrimbor’s hands, and her face went tense. “Celebrimbor, what has happened to your hands?”

“Annatar. You don’t want the dreary details,” Celebrimbor said. “But if you ever again take a dislike to one of my friends, Galadriel, Elrond, Durin, I promise, you only have to mention it and I shall take your counsel at once.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Siege of Khazad-dûm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18837394) by [bunn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunn/pseuds/bunn)




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